Louder than bells
by seren23
Summary: It really shouldn't have surprised Inghean quite so much when by their third week in the village, she was referred to as 'the tall one's woman'. But it did. It really, truly did. Asbjorn/Inghean.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is hiddencait's fault. And mine, for being so predictable. I don't even know. This movie was far better than it had any business being. I hope you enjoy! The title is from 'Drumming Song' by Florence and the Machine, because of course it is.

* * *

"You be more careful with those fish teeth, Mared," Inghean said as she walked one of the village women to the door after cleaning and fixing up a wound she'd received from a fish that still had some fight left in him. "You know they like to bite even when they're on their way to the fire."

Mared held up her bandaged hand and frowned. "Little bastard. We're having him first tonight, you mark my words."

Inghean held back a smile and just said, "He deserves what's coming to him."

"Too right, miss," Mared said with a firm nod. "You and your man come by, if you want. We've got plenty."

Inghean hesitated, but only for a breath, before replying, "Thank you for the offer. I'm not sure when they're finishing today, but if they come back early, we'll all come by."

"I'll send someone to let them know," Mared said before ducking her head and with a wave, she headed back across the little village road to the other women who were cleaning and preparing the day's catch. Inghean watched her go and nodded when one of the fishermen walked past. He nodded in return, respectful and perfectly accepting of her presence in their little community.

It still felt odd to be so accepted; Inghean fought the urge to drop to her knees and sink her hands into the earth to know for certain that she was in no danger and that no one pursued her.

Their small band of survivors, three remaining Northmen, a Scottish princess, and a monk had rowed with empty bellies and parched mouths for three days before spotting a small village on the edge of the coast.

The inhabitants had been understandably cautious and suspicious. In truth, the group was too hungry and too exhausted to mount any kind of defence. Conall set them at some ease, as did Asbjörn's quiet strength and the easy way he had with people. Inghean also suspected that the fact that such a disparate group was quite clearly bound together only furthered their cause. Such a group that accepted the differences so easily amongst themselves must be accepting in general.

Within a matter of days, they had regained their strength and when Asbjörn asked the village elder what tasks his men could complete for him, the elder looked him up and down, then asked, "How much do you know about repairing fishing boats?"

Quite a bit, as it turned out.

The Northmen were quickly put to work repairing and constructing new boats for the fishermen to use. Conall and Inghean found themselves taking the place of the village healer who had passed during the winter. Inghean drew on all she remembered from watching the midwives and healers at home and discovered she remembered more than she thought. What she didn't know, she made up and so far, her talents were proving useful.

She hadn't realised just how treacherous fishing could be.

Their small group took over a smaller longhouse on the edge of the village and no one seemed to find it odd that they should remain together. However, as the days passed, Conall would often stay the night in the healer's hut in the village. Inghean, still possessing the sensation that she should always keep an eye on the horizon, stayed close to the Northmen, especially Asbjörn, who seemed to always be in her line of sight.

Therefore, it really shouldn't have surprised her quite so much when by their third week in the village, she was referred to as 'the tall one's woman'.

But it did.

It surprised her quite a lot.

She suspected the reason it surprised her was due to the fact that despite Conall's knowing looks and not-quite hidden smiles along with Gunnar's outright grins and Jorund's smirks, Asbjörn had not said a word.

Nothing.

Nothing passed his lips that she could have taken as a clue that he was aware of what the village thought of them, or that he even desired her.

He was as he ever was: stoic and simply there, should she need him.

 _He had to aware of what they said_ , she thought as she looked out over the coast, her eyes automatically searching out his tall, broad form. She spotted him quite a ways down the beach, towering as he did above the others as they slowly maneuvered a large plank into joists that would curve the beam to be fitted to the bottom of a ship.

 _Perhaps he's only trying to spare your feelings_ , she thought as she watched him work. _Perhaps he doesn't wish to force you into anything. Perhaps he's only being gallant. It isn't as though you've said anything either._

 _And what would you say?_ a voice that sounded a great deal like her old nursemaid said. _You know how men are, dearie. Give them a drop, they'll want the whole ocean. What is you want of the man? You figure that out first, luvvie. And, mayhaps, you have to be the one who speaks first._

With a wince of discomfort at the thought, Inghean closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the salty air, before going inside the healer's hut. She tidied the room wishing it was as easy to tidy her own thoughts and wishes.

She was absorbed in her task of grinding up some herbs for the poultices when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called looking up from her worktable. Her hands faltered slightly as Asbjörn walked in, ducking slightly under the doorframe. "I thought you'd be on the beach all day."

His lips quirked up briefly. "Gunnar's managed to shave a good portion of his skin off when we were sanding the boards down. The man's adamant that only your salves will do."

"You told him to wash it off in the sea, didn't you?" she said smiling as she wiped off her hands on her apron before heading to her shelves.

"This village living is making him soft," he said, the humour in his voice belying his words.

"Hmm," she said as she plucked a small pot off the shelf. "Have him put this on and then leave it uncovered. Should fix him right up."

She handed him the little pot and his fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. A shiver forced itself down her spine and she froze, her eyes locked on his.

Even he looked surprised by her, his eyes widening, before he asked haltingly, "Little Bird? Are you well?"

She swallowed as she nodded. "Yes, fine. Just a chill. It'll pass."

His forehead furrowed as he looked her over, his other hand reaching up to cup her shoulder and then smooth up to cup her neck, his thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. "Are you sure? Do you need me to build up the fire?"

She felt her body heat from his touch and she blinked at him in confusion as her insides curled and yearned.

His hands were so very large, it had been one of the first things she'd noted. So very large and so very capable; they could surely do anything to her that they wished, fair or foul, and there would be little she could do to stop it.

However, as certain as she was in the earth beneath her feet, she knew he'd never lay an angry hand on her. Whether or not she wanted him to lay any other kind of hand on her was a completely different story.

Determined to control her thoughts, she reached up and caught his hand in hers as she smiled. "I'm fine. But, I won't turn down someone else seeing to that fire."

The smile he flashed her only agitated her insides further and when he walked away to feed the fire, she pressed a hand to her middle and told herself to settle down.

She went back to her worktable and watched him add another log to the fire and stoke it so that it was burning steadily.

"Do you need me to move that cauldron for you?" he asked indicating the large iron pot she used for cooking.

"Not today," she said. "It seems I'm only mending the odd fish bite."

"Where's our monk?" he asked coming over to her table and attempting a surreptitious dip of his finger in the pot of honey that one of the women in the village had traded her for one of her salves.

"Off to visit someone on the other side of the village," she said as she neatly rapped his knuckles with her spoon.

He winked at her as he popped his honey-covered finger in his mouth. "He's left you on your own?"

"He'll be back tomorrow morning," she said glaring at him. "And I'm hardly on my own in this village, am I?"

"If it was up to me, you'd never be on your own," he said simply.

Inghean stopped and stared at him and his own words must have echoed in his mind, for he stopped and stared back. She watched the muscles in his neck move as he swallowed.

"I just mean," he said, his voice thick and low. "You don't have to be afraid. Of anything. Nothing'll happen to you here."

"I'm not afraid," she said, her own voice hushed and she knew that she spoke the truth.

He nodded and looked away. "Good. That's…I'm… Back to the ship. Gunnar'll be moaning like a newborn if I don't get back."

"Nothing worse that Gunnar in one of his moans," she said still just staring at him.

Asbjörn smiled quickly and then ducked out of the hut.

Inghean stood for a moment and then with a gusty sigh, she slumped next to her worktable, thoroughly done in and at a loss as to what to do next.

"Saints help me," she muttered.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in much the same manner: Inghean would find herself deep in the middle of a task and her mind would wander towards thoughts of Asbjörn and his face, his hands, his teasing manner, his bravery… It would be about then that Inghean would make a disgusted sound, remind herself that she was not some little girl to be distracted by fanciful thoughts and she'd best get back to work.

But the thoughts would return and the cycle would spin once again.

It was with a sigh of relief when she finished for the day and closed up the healer's hut to head back to their dwelling. She thought about going to Mared's for the promised fish, but decided that solitude would be welcome this day.

The longhouse was quiet upon her entry, and she moved immediately to build up the fire in the centre of the room. She had just added some logs to the slowly building flames when the door opened.

Startled, Inghean spun around to see Asbjörn enter, but then come to a halt when he saw her.

As seemed to be their newly formed habit, they stared at one another for a long moment.

"Fish," he said eventually.

"Pardon?" she replied, frowning.

"I thought you'd be with the others," he said shaking his head a little. "Eating today's catch."

"Oh, no," she said shrugging and turning back to the fire. "I didn't feel like joining the others." She prodded the logs with the fire iron. "Why are you – oh."

She stopped her prodding when a broad arm reached along her side and a hand covered hers.

"You need to aim further down," Asbjörn's voice rumbled from somewhere above her ear. "Make sure you get the lower heat to stir. It'll help the pieces on top catch. And I didn't feel like joining the others either."

"Oh," she said as his hand guided the fire iron. Heat, that wasn't solely due to the fire, flickered all over her body and she found herself leaning back into the warmth of his body. His arm that guided the fire iron curved around her and stilled.

Inghean felt his breath ghost over her temple and just as she began to turn her head, a loud noise stopped her.

Asbjörn froze behind her.

Blinking, Inghean asked, "Was… Was that your stomach?"

"Yes," he replied in a strangled voice. "It's been some time since midday."

Unable to muffle a laugh, Inghean slid her hand from under his, leaving him to finish stoking the fire, as she said, "There's plenty of stew from yesterday."

She glanced at his face and could see a pink on his cheeks that wasn't due to the sun. With a small smile on her face, relieved that she wasn't the only one who felt peculiar, she set about heating up food.

After a moment, Asbjörn asked after her day and after she replied, she returned the favour. Stew was eaten alongside their conversation and Inghean felt herself relax as the sun dipped low in the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, this is it. The last part of this little contribution to the tiniest fandom in the world. I hope you enjoy! This chapter definitely earns it's M rating!

* * *

"Watch you don't catch yourself on that knife, Inghean," Iona, one of the younger women in the village, said. "Hate to have to heal the healer!"

Inghean laughed along with the other ladies and took more care as she filed down the edges of the net they were mending. The work was hard but rewarding and the day was clear and calm. The boats were dotted about the horizon as they hauled in their catch.

"How are you feeling?" Inghean asked Iona after a few moments of pulling on the ropes. "The sickness left you yet?"

"Feeling much better, mistress," Iona replied smiling but not looking up from her work. "The babe's already kicking and whatever you gave me to drink in the mornings has eased that awfulness a great deal. My thanks to you."

"You're most welcome," Inghean said. "That drink's been passed down for generations and everyone who's used it has been the better for it."

"One of these mornings, perhaps you'll be needing it yourself," Mared said with a grin. "And with that man of yours, you'll have the biggest belly of them all!"

Inghean joined in the laughter, but inside she felt uncomfortable. She was lying to these women who had been so easy to welcome her. She was lying to the entire village; and the lies were beginning to chafe.

On the surface, Asbjörn appeared to be ever the solicitous husband, always with a kind eye on her, even going so far as to walk her home from the healer's hut when he had the opportunity.

They'd even had more quiet meals together when Gunnar and Jorund had remained in the village drinking with the other fishermen.

Inghean both looked forward to and dreaded those evenings. She looked forward to their open conversations and the warmth of his presence; but when their meals were done and the fire had died down and they retired to their separate beds, she'd lay in the darkness listening to him breath and she'd ache all over with something she wasn't sure she could name.

 _Something would need to be done_ , she thought to herself as she continued to mend the net. _And as he's not saying anything, it'll be down to me._

She tugged sharply at the rope and nodded to herself.

Later that evening, after she'd closed up the healer's hut, leaving Conall to his evening prayers, she walked through the village, her eye as ever on the horizon. Smoke wafted from the surrounding longhouses into the sky and she breathed in the smell of smoking fish and the earthy smell of the heather on the hills behind them. A storm was approaching across the sea, she could see the black clouds building and the earth beneath her feet seemed to ready itself for rain.

She arrived at the longhouse she shared with the Northmen and immediately set to getting their evening meal ready. One of the other women had traded some of her smoked fish and root vegetables in exchange for Inghean setting her youngest boy's broken arm. The vegetables went into her heavy pot and the fish were set beside the fire for warming.

Inghean added some herbs she herself had picked off the hills and left the brew to simmer.

She was in the midst of tidying up her chest of belongings when the door to the longhouse blew open. Asbjörn came in and quickly closed the door behind him. He turned and smiled upon seeing her.

"We're in for a good night of rain," he said in greeting.

"The crops are already grateful," she said smiling in return. "I can feel it."

He shook his head. "I'll never not be in awe of your gift, Inghean."

"Too right," she said nodding even as she grinned. "Where're the others?"

"Jorund's trying his luck with Gwyn again and Gunnar's answering a challenge set to him by Oleg about some mead," he said heading to his bed by the door. He sat down on his own chest and removed his boots. "Where's our monk?"

"In prayer," she said stirring the stew and trying to ignore the hum that started in her belly at the realisation that they'd be on their own that evening. "If the storm hits, he may remain in the village."

Asbjörn hmm'd and she felt him approach. His hand rested on her shoulder as he reached for a mug on a hook above her head. The warmth of his hand collided with the hum inside her and she shivered.

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she held her breath, hoping he'd say something, anything, to ease the ache in her bones.

"I…" he said haltingly. "I, ah, smells good, that does."

His hand left her shoulder as he walked stiffly to the small barrel of mead in the back of the longhouse. Inghean breathed out her disappointment and stirred the vegetables with a bit too much force as some of the liquid sloshed out into the flames.

"It'll be ready soon," she said through gritted teeth.

She heard him pour mead into his mug and drink it down in one long gulp. Then he poured another mug.

The warmth of the room rose as the storm built outside and they stood in awkward silence. Inghean couldn't remember the last time they'd been this strange with one another and she hated it.

 _Maybe…he doesn't feel as you do,_ a voice whispered in her head. _What if you've built something out of nothing?_

Her hand hovered over the handle of the pot and her stomach twisted in uncertainty. A log snapped and popped, sparks flew up and onto her hand.

She sucked in a breath and wrenched her hand back.

"Are you hurt?" Asbjörn was suddenly there, standing before her, his hand cradling her singed one with a gentleness that always took her aback.

She shook her head. "It's fine. Just a bit of heat on the skin; nothing to worry over."

He still held her hand up to look it over and his fingers slid against her palm and her wrist, resting upon her thrumming pulse. All of Inghean's composure struggled to remain in check and she simply stared up at him. His eyes moved from her hand to her face. Their gaze held and his hand enveloped hers completely. She watched his face and his chest rose and fell with each of his breaths and absently, she realised that she breathed in time with him.

"Inghean," he said, his voice low and heavy.

A loud crash of thunder above the longhouse had them both jumping. Inghean's hand slipped from his as he reached for his sword and spun to face the door.

"The storm," Inghean gasped out, laughing, even as she felt the tension between them ease. "It's the storm. The heavens have opened up."

Asbjörn chuckled and shook his head turning to her. "I've always enjoyed a good storm. Just forgot how loud they can be."

"Hope the boats will fare well on the waves," she said.

"They were built with Viking hands," he said, his eyes gleaming. "They'll last the night."

Inghean's face flushed and she shook her head as she returned to the stew. "Such arrogance."

"It isn't arrogance when you know it to be true," he said grinning.

She rolled her eyes. "Spare me from the boastful nature of men. Eat your fish, Northman."

He winked and did as he was told.

They sat beside the fire in silence, the awkwardness washed away with the rain that poured down outside. Inghean looked up and could almost see the wind lashing the trees and the waves as they swelled.

"You've good hand for cooking," Asbjörn said as he finished his meal. "Didn't think princesses ever had to know such things."

Inghean smiled. "Perhaps they don't, but my mother's mother was a cook and it was passed down. How to use what the land gives you." She smiled down at her bowl. "'Riches can't be eaten, Inghean. Always know how to fill a belly and you'll do well.' My grandmother wasn't wrong."

"Sounds like quite a woman," he said setting his bowl aside.

"She was," she said nodding. "I take after her more than my mother, or so I was told."

"How so?" he asked.

"My mother was very…delicate," she said frowning. "She loved my father a great deal. Or perhaps she was simply devoted to him. But her constitution wasn't strong and she had such a harsh cough in the winter. When she saw my father become—" She broke off and took a deep breath. "She died three winters ago. She just…faded away."

"I can't imagine you ever fading, Inghean," he said after a moment passed. "You're too strong and bright too fade."

"Do you think so?" she asked trying to smile as she looked over at him

He nodded, his eyes serious. "I do. I knew it the minute you flew out of that gilded cage, hell bent on ripping us all apart with your bare hands."

"Don't know that I would have succeeded," she said. "But I would have done my best."

"I'm just glad I had my sword to hand," he said his lips curving into a smile.

Inghean grinned at him, but jumped as lightning crashed over their heads. "The heavens are busy tonight!"

"Hope nothing strikes the trees," he said looking up. "Don't want to have to battle a fire tonight."

Inghean shivered at the thought and he noticed. "You're cold."

"I'm fine," she said.

"I'll get you some mead," he said getting to his feet.

"Oh, truly, I'm fine," she said reaching to stay him, but he'd already moved and her hand fell to the earthen floor. Her fingers slipped into the soil as pure heat infused her body.

She gasped as images flooded her mind. Flashes of large hands caressing bare skin, of cries of passion, and waves of pleasure struck her and her head swam with it. Involuntarily, her body arched and her eyes slipped shut.

Two warm hands on her shoulder brought her out of her visions and her eyes opened to find Asbjörn knelt in front of her, his worried eyes fast on her face.

"What is it? What did you see?" he asked.

"You _do_ want me," she said, her voice hoarse and her throat dry.

He stilled, his hands heavy on her shoulders. "What?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"You want me," she repeated. "I saw it. The earth told me. You want me."

He stared at her and even leaned in ever so slightly, but then he was on his feet and walking away.

"What-?" she said her brow furrowing. "What is – Asbjörn? I don't-"

"I'm sorry," he said, his back to her. "I never meant for you to know."

Inghean stared at his back, her head beginning to ache. "Why not?"

"Because I wouldn't have you do anything that you don't wish to do," he said all in a rush. "I know what the other's say about us and because it keeps you safe, I've not said anything to correct anyone." He turned his head to the side so she could see his profile. "But if you wish for me to, I will."

Inghean blinked before she got to her feet, her knees still weak from her visions.

"Explain," she said sharply.

His shoulders rose slowly and fell as he let out a deep breath. "I won't have you like this, Inghean. I won't just…take you because you feel grateful for my protection."

"You think that the only reason I'd want you to, to, to itake/i me is down to gratitude?" she asked, her voice rising.

He glanced at her and then down, before nodding.

"And you don't want to do that so you'd rather tell everyone that I'm _not_ yours, so that, what? I can go out to find someone else?" she asked.

"Is there someone else?" he asked, lifting his head and facing her fully, his voice somewhere between plaintive and angry.

Heavens above, she was going to throw something. She was going to pick up her heaviest pot and just _heave_ it at his head.

"Of course there isn't!" she shouted. "How could there be? How could anyone compare to you, you ridiculous Northman!"

His eyes widened and his hands fell slack by his sides as he stared at her.

"You saved my life," she said stalking towards him. "And I _am_ grateful, I'll not deny that. But that's not… I don't just…" Her hands clenched into fists. "It's not gratitude that fills me with this absurd longing for you. It's not gratitude that makes me smile when you walk me home, when you build up the fire, when you defend your people, when you defend _me_." She shook her head. "And it most certainly wasn't gratitude that caused my heart to nearly break in two when you jumped off that cliff. It's you. Just…you. But if you don't-"

Inghean's words trailed off when Asbjörn took one large step to pull her in close, one arm around her waist, his other hand cupping her face. She bent backwards with the force of his grasp and stared up into his face.

"I have wanted you since you took up that crossbow," he said. "Throughout everything, I have wanted you, Inghean, and if you don't tell me otherwise, I'll take you now as mine. Tell me you want me, and I'll not waste anymore of our time."

With a trembling hand, she traced her fingers along the side of his jaw and said, "I'm already yours in the minds of our friends and our village. I'm yours in every one of your deeds. Make me yours in body, Asbjörn."

His mouth covered hers and stole the breath from her body as he kissed her. She rose up on her toes and met his kiss with an equal amount of fervour. He moaned into her mouth when her hand curled into his hair, scraping her nails on his scalp.

"Inghean," he breathed as they sank to the floor, his hands pulling her astride his lap.

He was so large, her knees didn't touch the floor and she should have felt some kind of hesitation to feeling so open and vulnerable perched atop his thighs, but the thought left her as she pressed her mouth to his and his tongue swept inside her mouth.

Over and over, his mouth moved over hers and Inghean felt as though she was once again atop that cliff, at the edge of a great precipice, ready to dive into something immense and more powerful than anything she'd encountered.

His hands cupped her thighs as she instinctively rocked closer and closer, ripples of pleasure moved through her body. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, then smoothed down over his arms. The muscles beneath her palms tensed and tightened and her head fell back as his mouth trailed down her throat.

Cool air tickled her legs as his hands travelled down and then back up, her skirts bunching at his wrists.

"You," she gasped, her fingers plucking at the ties of his shirt. "I want to see you."

Mere moments were lost to him undoing and discarding his shirt, but then the bare expanse of his chest was Inghean's to explore. She traced the lines of sinew and muscle with her hands, but soon retraced those same lines with her mouth.

His groan vibrated under her tongue and she grinned against his skin.

Her smugness was fleeting when the world spun around her as Absjorn rose to his feet, scooping her up and carrying to his bed as though she weighed nothing.

He set her down on his blankets and she stared up at him. The longhouse was silent apart from the sounds of the storm outside and their own breathing. Slowly, and with the same precision she'd seen him use to mend his tools, he lifted her feet one by one and removed her shoes. Inghean lifted her hand to rest atop the ties on the bodice of her dress.

Asbjörn stilled, his hand still cupping her foot, as he stared. He nodded, and smoothly, Inghean undid the ties. When they were loose, she shrugged her shoulders and her dress slipped off her shoulders to pool around her waist, leaving her in her chemise.

He gently released her foot and his hands went to his belt, and as he removed it, Inghean removed her dress completely. He hesitated, his hands hovering just above the waistband of his trousers. His eyebrow arched as he looked at her, as though giving her one last chance to refuse him.

Inghean arched her own eyebrow and in response to his unspoken question, she pulled her chemise up and off, leaving her nude in his bed.

His eyes widened briefly, before shoving his trousers down and she hardly had a moment to look him over before he was joining her on the bed, his body covering her completely.

His mouth descended on hers as she rose up to meet him and her hands roved all over his body that she could reach, his shoulders, his arms, his wrists, the small of his back, the curve of his hips. She shifted beneath him and he groaned.

"Easy," he said against her mouth.

"No," she said raking her nails down his sides. "I need… Asbjörn, please, I _need_."

"Yes, gods, woman," he said as his hands went to her thighs and tugged so they opened so that his hips fell against where she was aching and wet.

His cock was warm and heavy against her and she had a brief moment of panic, but his mouth found her breast and her back bowed up as he suckled.

Her hands threaded into his hair and she held him in place as his mouth did wicked things to her breasts. He stroked her nipple with the flat of his tongue and a bolt of heat surged through her. Her hips rocked against his cock and she bit down on his shoulder from the sensation.

"Inghean," he gasped. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm not afraid," she said smiling as she tugged at his head so that she could see his eyes. "Make me yours."

Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached down between their bodies. The backs of his knuckles brushed through her slickness and her breath hitched.

His brow furrowed as though he were in pain even as she felt him position the head of his cock. It slipped into her wetness and she cradled his face in her hands as he entered her.

He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed, "You feel like heaven, little bird."

Inghean couldn't speak; her breath seemed to have been stolen from her body as he slowly pushed into her. She felt stretched and full and there was an ache deep inside that had her curling her hips up to accommodate him. Another flame of heat coursed through her and her eyes widened even as his closed.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, _again_."

He pulled out and her eyes watered as his cock slid against her walls, but then he thrust back inside.

"Oh!" she said once more, her hands dug into his shoulders. "Oh, yes. Yes, that."

He chuckled and repeated the thrust again, and again.

Her eyes stared blindly as she was awash in pure sensation and she felt herself leap off that cliff, the air rushed past her, warm and alive. Every inch of her felt aflame and she pressed her breasts up to feel the friction of his chest as it moved over hers.

"Asbjörn," she said, her body on the verge of something but unsure how to reach it.

"Hold on," he said as with one hand he gathered both her hands and pressed the down above her head, stretching her body beneath him. Her knees rose up to press against his surging body and when he snapped his hips, he hit something inside that had her crying out.

"Yes," she said, her fingers tightening on his hand. "Asbjörn, again!"

"Inghean, my Inghean," he said as sweat collected between their bodies.

His hips flexed again and again and then…she was flying. Soaring above the sea in a thousand pieces, Inghean cried out Asbjörn's name.

"Love," he said his voice cracking as his hips stuttered tightly against her and she felt a warmth spill into her, sending her shivering giddily in the aftermath.

His grip on her hands loosened and she tugged a hand free to caress the back of his head as he buried his face against her neck.

When the sweat began to cool on their bodies, he lifted his head and met her eyes.

"No one will ever take you from me," he said. "And no one will ever take me from you. I'm yours and you're mine."

"Mine," she said her hand moving to press against his steadily beating heart. "And yours."

His head lowered and the kiss they shared was gentle and solemn. Inghean sighed when he pulled out. They used the clean bucket of water to rinse briefly, laughing as they did. They returned to Asbjörn's bed, as there was no reason for Inghean to use hers when his was so very warm.

He stretched out and Inghean curled up against his side, her hand resting on his chest, his hand coming up to cover her own. She sighed happily as he pulled the covers up around them both and she pressed a kiss to his chest.

She fell asleep to the feel of his lips pressed against the top of her head.

* * *

The sound of the door opening and shutting as Gunnar and Jorund returned woke Inghean some hours later, but she just curled herself closer to Asbjörn, even as his arm pulled her close.

She started to drift off once more, when a muffled curse startled her awake.

"Fucking hell," Jorund muttered before he called across the longhouse. "Hey, Gunnar. Our bird's not here."

"What?" Gunnar said loudly and Inghean sighed as she heard booted feet stomp across the ground. "He's right, she's gone. Asbjörn, wake up!"

"I _am_ awake," Asbjörn replied, and Inghean smiled against his side at the amused tone in his voice.

"The princess is gone," Jorund said. "She's not where she should be."

" _She_ is precisely where she should be," Inghean said, lifting her head and looking at the other men across the expanse of Asbjörn's chest as he put his arm behind his head to better see the room.

Asbjörn's chuckle shook the bed as the other men stared at them.

Gunnar was the first to start grinning. "Well, now, isn't this a pretty sight? You finally persuaded her to give your ugly face a chance, did you, boy?"

"Nah," Jorund said smirking. "It was her that started it."

"Him," Gunnar said hitting Jorund.

"Nah, her," Jorund replied.

"Any reason you wish to know the particulars?" Inghean asked, suddenly suspicious.

"No reason, no reason," Gunnar said raising his hands.

"Just a small wager amongst friends," Jorund added.

"Bastards," Asbjörn said under his breath.

"And did anyone wager that it would be a mutual decision?" Inghean asked them, arching her eyebrow.

They froze and then Gunnar cursed. "That damn monk. I owe him an entire barrel of mead."

Inghean laughed as Asbjörn said, "Serves you right. You still owe him for the one you took from his tower. Now, shut up and let us sleep."

"Worn him out, have you?" Jorund said. "Too busy a night, was it, helmsman?"

"Busier than yours, I'd wager," Inghean retorted before slipping back down beside Asbjörn, who shook with laughter.

Gunnar swiped at Jorund who muttered and they headed to their beds.

Inghean looked up as Asbjörn turned towards her and traced his hand down her face.

"Still here, then," he said.

She nodded. "And not planning to leave, neither."

He leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back and eventually found herself beneath his body, his cock hardening and her body responded swiftly.

"I'm not listening to this all night," she heard Jorund mutter before two sets of footsteps practically ran out the door.

Asbjörn smiled against her lips. "Wonder what they think I'm going to do to you."

"Something having to do with plundering and pillaging, no doubt," she said as her hands slid down to his ass, pulling him against her.

"Hmm, should I?" he asked mouthing down the length of her throat, across her breasts to stop just above her stomach. His hand slid up the inside of her thigh to play between her legs. "Should I plunder and take what's mine?"

Inghean placed her hand on his head and pressed it lower as she said, "Do your worst, Northman."


End file.
